


Different Time

by AndiiErestor



Series: Different Time, Different Place [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Nipple Piercings, The Great Golden Oaf, aka. Erestor is star-struck my Glorfindel's naked torso, i blame haeron entirely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiErestor/pseuds/AndiiErestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FA 509 - Difficult times call for difficult measures. Erestor as well as many of his peers have been called for some training in the "art" of war. The young elf is rather disappointed with this sudden turn of events - with the interruption of his scholarly pursuits - but what of his new instructor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Time

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
> 
> A/N: This takes place in the First Age, in Gondolin, in case I didn’t mention that. Erestor is here freshly 50 years of age. The story takes place early in FA 509.

_Nervous. I was so nervous._

It was our first day of sword training today. The path of the warrior was not one I intended to follow, but in these times it had become a basic requirement for all elves of a certain age to be able to wield a weapon. As a result, our teacher had informed us that come the first day of the third month our group would join with others to study the craft.

Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn’t be opposed to learning the “art” of war. It was something I’d always considered trying – how to properly use a bow – as an extracurricular. I’d always loved the idea of being self-sufficient. I still do really, but I’d since prioritized my education as a scholar. It’s not like I didn’t anticipate having _a lot_ of time to do so. Of course, our situation had since changed. I both relished and despised the enforced studies to come, in part because they would no doubt be unnecessarily strict on – mostly – willing minds, but mainly… We would be joined by both novice and trained – though lower class – warriors. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be bothered, but _that_ fact alone meant I would be reunited with some of my peers from earlier years whom I was not very fond of.

You see, it’s like this: there are two main levels of education for elves. The first, we are subject to before out majority and consists of the basics of many subjects such as histories, mathematics, physical activities and other foundations for learning. The second, comes round our majority or a short time after – that is left to the student to decide – and consists of a more goal-oriented study. Usually ended with an apprenticeship, this or _these_ areas of study concentrate on teaching specific skills needed for any trade. Of course, this was open to anyone of any age, as some may decide later in life to choose a different calling.

In case you hadn’t guessed, I was at this second stage of my studies. At only 46 years of age, I’d received permission to step ahead of the others of my class. As well as keeping up with my regular schoolwork, I would frequently ask our instructors for material ahead of our grade to do over the summer. My last year of that stage of education had consisted of being privately tutored to fill in any gaps I may have missed as a result of moving forward and doing much of my studies on my own. Finally, my teacher spoke to a friend, who spoke to a co-worker, who… Well, after a lot of chatter which I could have done without, they’d decided to help me along.

Apparently – I say this because I have no proof but their bitterness – being the only student so dedicated to my education – and an aspiring scholar at that – was not a thing to be proud of. Or so they made a point to remind me, daily. As I took great pleasure in reminding them of the many ways brains could beat brawn, silently, to myself, in my head. Unfortunately, my lack of physical conditioning meant I could not retaliate when they tried to steal my books or shove me out of their way. Unfortunately… That means that although I have since begun my apprenticeship in the King’s library, all the books I may or may not have had to carry around all day, have still gotten me nowhere close to achieving their same physique. Therein stems my disdain for this joint practice.

No doubt the instructors hoped by doing this, that we would work together and benefit from a joint effort and perhaps a challenge but I knew better. They certainly wouldn’t stoop so low as to explain their ways and they certainly wouldn’t go easy on the “wimpy, whiney, weak bookworms” they had to “put up with” for the next few weeks.

I dressed this morning in an old tunic and leggings I hadn’t work – incidentally – since I was in the same class as those same boys. They were a little smaller than I remembered – a testament to having finally grown in the last few years – but not noticeably so. Finally, as the sun rose over the mountains, I reached the training arena. Large though it was, the grounds were separated into several sections. Where they were, I knew, but having not been inside since I was but a boy, I had to ask one of the officials for directions.

The older elf smiled politely at me as I approached. _That’s a nice change_ , I smiled back. “Good morning.” He greeted me in return and I continued, “Might you point me in the direction of training field A3, please?”

“O’ course,” he grinned, “Ya been called in for the ‘mergency trainin’ eh?” I nodded and he carried on, “Any idea what you’d like t’ try?” I shook my head. “Hmm,” he gazed at me studiously, “Perhaps the knives? Ya look like a fellow who’s quick on ‘is feet. Of course, the bow’s good if you want t’avoid getting’ caught up in the fight…”

I nodded and bit my lip, looking about nervously, at this rate I would be late.

“Aye, of course,” the official shook his head, “My apologies there. I shall show you the way, lest I’ve made ya late with all my chatter.”

“Thank you,” I smiled gratefully and let him lead the way.

Our walk was blessedly silent, allowing me to prepare for the long day ahead of me. It did little good however, as I was greeted with a holler of “you’re late, recruit” as we reached the field. I rolled my eyes at the blond. The majority of this group were my peers, though I could indeed see some young warriors’ faces that I recognized. He knew that the major part of us wished not to be here, the least he could do was treat us appropriately. That was why I’d stalled my interest in taking up archery – I was not fond of the lack of respect from instructor to students in these classes. I glanced up at the man at my side to find him scratching his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry about that Glorfindel,” he laughed, “You know me, when I get to talkin’…”

Sadron, stealing my recruits then? Again?” the blond laughed. It seemed the oaf simply didn’t care much for propriety in general.

“Aye, my ‘pologies,” my companion turned to me once more and offered his hand for me to shake, which I naively accepted. Sadron took my hand to his lips and kissed it while I stared at him, mouth open in shock, “Thank you for the pleasure of your company?”

“Erestor,” I coughed, politely.

“Erestor,” he smiled and headed off on his way, leaving me to join the group of trainees and Glorfindel to shout after the other elf not to flirt with his recruits, shaking his fist in the air comically.

What a strange one, this blond elf was. Glorfindel. Chief of the House of the Golden Flower. One would this that someone of his status would be… Different. It is what it is, I suppose. I am not really one to judge. After all, if it was not for my mother’s renown as a scholar in Nargothrond, I’d have had no chance here, living as a farmer’s grandson.

“Thank you for joining us,” Glorfindel finally finished shouting at the retreating elf. “We will begin this morning with a simple demonstration, then we’ll go for a run and finally we will finish a bit early after some short drills with a variety of weapons in order to allow you all to get a better sense of what you may prefer to master.”

I watched as he called forth an assistant with whom he was to spar. He began first with the spear, showing everyone the proper way to hold it – though he would do it again later, he assured. _Uncaring for protocol perhaps, but still somewhat professional._ Next came the bow, which I watched eagerly. The way the blond moved seemed almost reverent. The knives – first one, then two – were wielded with an accuracy that surprised me. How could two blades be used with such accuracy – but then, we do have two arms, do we not? And finally “the Great, Blond Oaf” as I’d begun to refer to him, pulled his sword from its sheath, but not before pulling his shirt over his head.

In the growing heat of the warm, almost-spring sun, the two sparring warriors had worked up quite a sweat. While Egleriel, Glorfindel’s partner, was a sight to behold, the blond left me speechless. The sunlight and the shade provided by sparse trees chased across his flawless skin in a playful dance. Golden. Perhaps he _is_ the golden flower itself.

The strength of his frame was impressive. His arms, _ai_ , they were easily larger than his sword – an impressive feat for an elf. The way his biceps flexed as he pulled his sword from its sheath, the loud metal scraping loudly as he moved, brought my attention to its never-ending length. His large hands wrapped around the hilt firmly. I watched wide-eyed and subtly biting my lip. I couldn’t help staring as his fingers curled around the handle, tightening and loosening in unconscious rhythm to what he was saying… Ah, that’s right. He was speaking.

My gaze was drawn now to his lips. I hadn’t noticed earlier the soft sheen over them from how frequently he licked them. They looked perfectly kissable suddenly – petal soft. _Golden Flower_. He nodded and my attention was drawn to his eyes for a moment. I could see the sky and the ocean in them and I was lost at sea. He seemed exceedingly willing to make eye contact with his pupils, all but myself. He seemed to hesitate and look over me quite a lot, which, at his great height, must have been rather easy.

A movement as he seemed to stare at the top of my head caught my eyes next. Glorfindel – the Great, _Golden_ Oaf – gestured to his partner with a few words about the exercise, but the rest of his words were lost to me. My eyes followed his lean, beautiful arm back to his own and my breath caught in my throat on a gasp that I managed to pass off as a sigh of bored irritation at the sharp looks I then received from my peers. And… Was that a smirk from the Oaf? I shook my head minutely and stared in shock at the metal glinting in the sunlight on Glorfindel’s chest. His… His _nipples_ were both… Both? Yes, I glanced at its twin to check. Both peaks were framed by little silver balls. They reflected light beautifully as he began to move.

My gaze followed his chest curiously as he _thrust_ and parried. The sparring match had finally started. Back and forth I followed him, my sight only occasionally blocked by a thick arm or a swath of the golden hair after which he was named. This, of course, was not a problem for me at all. A sudden thrust from his opponent and Glorfindel threw his arms out with a step back. A bead of sweat – startling in its clarity despite the distance between it and myself – slowly trailed down the blond’s neck and over his heaving chest to makes its way to his – _oh!_

That certainly was a sight, wasn’t it? I gaped quietly, thankful that everyone seemed otherwise engaged. His abdomen, hardened from many years of training, clenched and released with each of his movements. I stood there mesmerized as the blond sparred, completely ignorant of my inner turmoil. That… That _Oaf_!

Every muscle seemed to lead to one point of tension… I looked away.  I couldn’t possibly. And yet, looking at the faces of my peers – scholars I had come to respect in their own right – I saw that they too, had found that very same point very intriguing. I had hear of certain warrior becoming aroused during combat due to the increased flow of adrenaline, but to see its evidence… With a defeated sigh – damn my insatiable curiosity – I _looked_. He wasn’t aroused, not fully anyway, but he was impressive – even through his clothes.

My breath left me in a great _whoosh_. I cared no longer if my peers found my reaction laughable – in fact, I had the nagging feeling that they were laughing right that moment. My concentration however, was focused elsewhere. I faintly heard my name in the back on my mind – as though calling me back to reality – but I ignored it. I would enjoy this moment alone with myself, surrounded by others, as long as I wished. Oh, but I only wanted one elf at that moment. I wanted him – the great, _golden_ , blond oaf – lord Glorfindel, chief of the House of the Golden Flower. I wanted him and the sword hidden snugly in his trousers. And suddenly, it seemed I would have my wish.

He approached. I looked up in surprise, noting that he walked straight towards me. It was then that I noticed what had captured his attention – _me_. While I’d been lost in the storm raging on in my mind, he’d since stopped his play fighting, had put his weapon away and dismissed the rest of the group to the running exercises.

Glorfindel placed his hand on my shoulder, effectively jarring me from my fantasies and returning me to the present. I looked to his hand, touching me so casually, and followed the sun-tanned arm all the way up his body and to his shining blue eyes. A dark flush stole across my cheeks in humiliation. Aye, what a fool I’d made of myself.

I looked at him now, in shock, my mouth snapping open and closed. I think he asked me if I was well – I think he used my name – but I could only shrug in reply.

“ – estor… Erestor,”  I heard the gentle voice of the oaf calling me back. “It’s alright, Erestor. You’re alright.”

I took a deep breath and, “I’m sorry,” the words left my mouth before I’d processed them.

“Ah! So you do speak,” he grinned, “I was beginning to think I’d imagined it earlier.” He brought both hands to cup my face suddenly but commanded my attention as he spoke, “’tis alright, lissë titta corco. You have nothing to fear. It is a normal reaction for one your age, I believe. How old are you, Erestor?”

“Fifty,” I whispered, with a thickness in my voice I’d never heard before.

“Ah,” Glorfindel nodded,” Just passed recently, yes?” He waited for my answering nod before continuing, “As I said, you need not worry. I am certain one so lovely as you will soon find someone to your tastes…”

My face fell then, I’m sure of it, but he simply urged me on to run – to catch up to the others. And yet, one look at his beautiful, blue eyes before I did so revealed so much. They told me not to worry. They said _thank you_ , for seemingly many things at once. They told me to be careful. And they said _I’m sorry_ , as though he’d realized my disappointment. They begged me not to leave. They offered me a smile, encouraging me to run and show all those fools that I was made of sterner stuff than they believed. They asked me to wait. And behind all of that – no – most of all – _it couldn’t be possible_ – it seemed like – _no_ …

As the slow drag of my feet turned to a half-hearted jog, I turned to gaze upon him one last time. And this time, I swear it was on his lips as much as it was in his eyes –

_I love you…_

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> lissë titta corco - sweet little crow/raven
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: And there you have it. ‘Tis late now, and I must be abed. I do hope you all enjoyed this. Let me know what you thought of it.


End file.
